Before we Begin: Boxing Day
When you're not feeling so hot on December 26
It is the day after Christmas. Happy Boxing Day! To my American compatriots, Boxing Day is real and it matters. I find myself feeling empty and alone on this day of giving and community. I hope you find my words valuable in your life.
Boxing Day in an Incomplete Nutshell
The term “Boxing Day” may come from medieval Britain, where churchgoers would fill alms boxes in the month leading up to Christmas, and churches would distribute that money to people in need on December 26, the Christian Feast of St. Stephen, a figure remembered for service to the poor. The term may also come from servants and tradespeople who collected “Christmas Boxes” of money and gifts from their employers on December 26 and were given the day off to spend with their families.
The point of this day is simple and far deeper than it looks at first glance:
There is more to this day than executing a social good and the moral imperative for those who have more to give to those who have less.
Boxing Day can and should teach us about recognition of service, respect for all people, and dignifying those who do the jobs most would never do and then suffer for it at the end of society’s cold hand. Boxing Day is also a day to give ourselves the same gifts. Because who among us does not know the feeling of being ignored, disrespected, or degraded?
That matters to me this year, because I feel unrecognized and disrespected by some people that are important to me. I feel like my service is undervalued, and this long scar running down my chest feels like a scarlet letter. I feel a constant rumbling fear that something could still go wrong with my heart.
I question whether I still have what it takes to succeed in business; whether I deserve to have career ambition is an active internal debate.
And I feel an aching sadness in the deepest part of my stitched-up heart that my family and my life look nothing like what I once imagined they would.
Happy Boxing Day? No, not for me right now.
Why should I feel this way when 2025 has been a year of survival, resurgence, and gratitude? I’m here. My heart is strong. I have new mental and emotional clarity. There are solid people in my life who offer me unconditional love, and I have opportunity. I didn’t know if I’d ever make it out of the hospital, let alone experience a full life once again. And still—this Boxing Day—I feel sick with all this.
“You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life”
- Al Burton, Gloria Loring, Alan Thicke
I guess that’s the part we don’t talk about enough: how gratitude and fear, relief and grief, confidence and doubt can all occupy the same body at the same time. My cup this year isn’t as empty as it feels. The fact is that my cup is probably hovering somewhere around 40% full. And that feels terrible. It is coldly sorrowful in places, scorchingly angry in other, and swirling with worry.
And yet, Boxing Day reminds me that generosity does not require overflowing fullness.
We all carry different cups, filled to different levels. Our cups are both leaky and patched. Someone may feel financially secure and deeply lonely. Another may enjoy love and connection together with fear of future instability. The point is that others can be strong where I feel weak or they may feel empty where I am full.
Despite my personal and professional fears, my self-doubt, the longing for deeper connections, I still have something to give.
So do you.
It might be money, food, or clothing for the less fortunate. Perhaps it is your time or talent promoting social good.
It could also be giving your full attention, patience, and presence to your children.
Maybe a call to a long-lost friend, just to say hi.
Or drop a little surprise at your neighbor’s door, even if you don’t like that person.
A small act may just fill that person’s cup just enough to help them keep going.
Consider what else you have to give and whether it might be more valuable than your time, talent, or treasure.
Today, I’m trying to remember that these acts of generosity put another patch in my leaky cup. I do not need abundance—only awareness enough to notice where I have enough to give.
This Boxing Day, before we begin again, I hope you’ll notice where you have enough to give. And I ask you to share some of it. Fill someone else’s cup.
I believe—deeply—that those of us who choose that path will set ourselves up better for a happier 2026 than any New Year’s resolution.
Sometimes the most lasting gift isn’t what we receive. It’s what we offer even when our own hands are still shaky.
I’m trying to practice this today. If you are doing a similar practice, drop me a note. I know I’m not alone.